Growing In and Growing Out, Not Up

growing in, growing out

When you hear someone say, “that person needs to grow up,” it doesn’t usually sound like a compliment or even an objective observation.

No, it sounds like a judgement.

They are not mature.

They have not grown up.

They are not a so-called grown up.

Growing up is the term we use in American culture to describe the process of maturing.

This is typically coupled with the aging process. One gets older year by year, and theoretically wiser.

There are so many examples and metaphors of how we equate up with better.

And better with superior.

It creates a sense of better than/less than.

But, if life is a process of maturing, then when is one ever grown up?

Don’t Grow Up

In some aboriginal cultures, one does not age just because there’s been a full rotation of the sun from their birth date.

One ages and celebrates a birthday party of sorts as a rite of passage or once they feel they’ve developed as a person or increased their mastery. Often specifically related to their vocation and role in the tribe.

This sounds more like how Buddhist’s ascend levels of enlightenment over the course of many lives. The ultimate level, where they have finished maturing, is liberation from the cycle of rebirth and death, what we commonly refer to as nirvana.

How do they grow up, er, ascend?

By following the Noble Eight-fold Path each lifetime.

How do they follow the path?

My guess: by growing in and growing out, not by growing up.

Growing In

Growing in, we come into integrity with ourselves.

We gain knowledge and wisdom about who we are, who we have been and who we will become.

In Essential Spirituality, Dr. Roger Walsh describes the three parts of knowing oneself.

I imagine it as concentric circles:

  • The center circle, what’s deep within us, is our truest “self,” our soul.
  • The next circle is our inner self where our secrets, hopes and fears lie, as well as our beliefs and self-image.
  • The outside circle is our outer self, our surface emotions, habits and personality.

Through discernment, the process of obtaining spiritual direction and understanding, we regain a sense of knowing.

In seeking answers or clarity, we often look within through meditation and prayer. And we look without through discussion and study.

According to Walsh, we seek wisdom:

  • in nature
  • in silence and solitude
  • from the wise
  • in ourselves
  • from reflecting on the nature of life and of death

Discernment reminds me of research and experimentation. Testing a hypothesis, a current idea, to grow new understanding.

My discernment has presented itself in this way: as a learning journey, similar to the “personal legend” in Paulo Cohelo’s fable, The Alchemist, toward the next thing I need to learn about being.

Each journey may last a few months or a few years, yet has a cycle beginning and ending at the next learning journey.

Sometimes it directly relates to big life decisions, but often it’s the daily choices related to being in the world as it actually is.

As former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt said, we decide “to accept the fact that [a person] must be what they are, life must be lived as it is and you cannot live at all if you do not learn to adapt yourself to your life as it happens to be.”

The end of Mary Oliver’s poem “To Begin With, the Sweet Grass” speaks to these journeys of growing in:

I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned, I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know? Love yourself.  Then forget it.  Then, love the world.

Growing Out

Growing out, we come into integrity with the world.

As Oliver says, we love the world.

“I want to see myself at once at the center of the universe—influencing its course with every word, thought, and deed—and at the same time a minute instrument of the cosmos acting in harmony with others,” wrote Robert Greenleaf in his essay about “The Requirements of Responsibility.”

We can exist in this cohesive state of opposites that Robert Greenleaf describes.

Often, my learning journeys have required some amount of both growing in and growing out at the same time.

And yet, there seem to be cycles to growth that do require one lesson before another.

Or some self-awareness prior to participating in a greater collective state.

For instance, many believe in astrological periods of a Saturn Return, the ~28 years for Saturn to complete its orbit around the Sun coinciding with the time of our birth, relating to cycles of learning journeys.

Some native cultures believe that the first seven years of the cycle are about mother, the next seven about father, the next seven about self, the next seven about community.

Just as growing in connects closely to self, growing out connects closely to community.

We discern, we test and learn, how to love the world through the way we live our life and our choices, as well as the way we show up in it, the energy we are bringing forth through these choices and actions.

Only recently have my learning journeys shifted from having a deep focus on growing in toward an emerging focus on growing out.

With fewer experiences and far less study, I know less about this process.

I sense that just as growing in is more introverted and reflective, growing out is more outgoing and active.

As such, we can seek wisdom:

  • in nature through interacting, not observing
  • in exchange and engagement
  • from the wise
  • from fully living with others

We love the world through our full presence and through engagement in deep community, “a special sense of community that embraces not only every other human but other species and things, as well,” according to Thomas Moore in A Religion of One’s Own.

Photo Credit: Evan Cohan

Guest Post: Listening to The Whole

listening to the whole

By Emily Light

While I was living in an ashram in Southern India, I spent much of my time sitting cross-legged: practicing pranayama, in meditation, listening to lectures on Indian Philosophy and to Swamiji’s talks, and eating meals.

When I wasn’t sitting I was practicing asana, hiking the mountains of upper Kodaikanal, or foraging for fruit, though the monkeys always seemed to get there before I did.

One day while coming down the mountain, I lowered my left foot to meet the earth and with no apparent misstep, twist, or torque, I felt an excruciating pain in my left knee.

I couldn’t bend it and was forced to hobble down the rest of the way with what felt like a pegleg.

I had to walk like that for days afterward.

Eventually the severity of the pain began to dissolve, but it never completely went away.

Living With Pain

When I returned to the states, I didn’t have health insurance, and when it became mandatory to get insurance, I had the catastrophic kind. Definitely not one with benefits to see a physical therapist.

I haven’t been able to hike with any amount of elevation gain because on the descent it was always trouble, and I’d be laid up not being able to walk properly for a couple of days or more.

Over the last few years, I’ve seen a handful of different types of practitioners: a chiropractor, a physical therapist, and an acupuncturist who specialized in sports medicine. I did all of my homework, trying this, trouble shooting that:

  • Was it my vastus medialis (one of the quadriceps muscles) not firing properly?
  • Was it weakness in my gluteus medius?
  • Tight tensor fascia latae?

At the end of an intense year, finally my physical therapist (whom I adore) recommended I get an MRI.

There I was a couple weeks later, laying as still as possible, getting my knee scanned.

If you’ve never gotten imaging like that, let me tell you, it’s really challenging to lay still, even for someone with a lot of mindfulness practice like myself!

When the results came back, everyone was surprised to see that I had fluid in my anterior tibia marrow. This can happen when there’s injury to the bone, but typically the body reabsorbs this fluid over the course of several months.

Why hadn’t mine?

Well, we weren’t sure.

The following months were spent doing lymph massage, elevation, castor oil and essential oils, with alternating hot and cold applications.

Every night, including almost every night while I was traveling and teaching in Thailand, I would spend a half hour or more with these therapies.

I also did fascia massages one to two times a day while my students were practicing savasana. Now you know what I was up to at the end of class!

After a couple of months, my knee had recovered.

I sat cross-legged for much of three days while I was in a yoga therapy training without pain.

While I need to condition my body to do big hikes, I’m now able to go down stairs and down hill without discomfort.

I’m over the moon!

Our Body Knows

The reason I’m writing isn’t to detail the history of my left knee, though I wanted you to know the significance of this injury in my life.

I’m writing because of something my physical therapist and I talked about, that helped me to shift my relationship with chronic injuries.

She told me that we all have our “spots” that flare up when there’s some sort of imbalance in the physical body, mentally or emotionally, and often these spots have been injured in the past.

But when they flare up, it doesn’t always equate with being re-injured.

It could be that when there’s emotional stress or upset, we’ll experience pain in that all too familiar area.

And what’s going on during these times is communication.

Our body is saying:

  • “Hey, there’s something important to pay attention to!”, or
  • “Something’s not quite right, it’s time to slow down and feel.”, or
  • “We’re doing all we can, but we got a cold, and sensation is more present right now.”

Rather than viewing the discomfort as an annoyance, we can learn to listen with appreciation for what our body’s trying to say to us.

I seem to learn this lesson over and over again.

Listening More

The inner voice that tells me to check in on a friend, only to learn that they’ve just gotten dumped.

That gut feeling to slow down as I’m approaching an intersection, right before a racing truck blows his stop sign, nearly hitting me.

The way that my heart feels when I just had a disagreement with my partner, which, I failed to navigate gracefully.

I know that my body and my heart are communicating with me all the time. And yours is as well.

I’m learning to listen more and more, and to allow myself to be guided by the wisdom that’s coursing throughout me.

The more I listen, the more clearly I can hear.

Emily Light is an active yogi and nutritionist in Portland, Ore., leading wellness retreats and workshops around the world and teaching classes at many local studios including Yoga Refuge, Yoga Bhoga and Yoga Space (that’s how Jules knows her). You can find her on Facebook and on Instagram.

Emily completed her first teacher training in 2008 and after a few years of teaching, was called to the motherland of yoga. It was there that she met one of her teachers, Swami Tureyananda. Emily spent a couple months immersed in deep practice, living at an ashram in Southern India, and studying yoga therapy with Swamiji. In May of 2015 she graduated from a two year yoga therapy training under Sarahjoy Marsh, completing her 500-hour certification through Yoga Alliance (E-RYT 500), and is certified through the International Association of Yoga Therapists (C-IAYT). Complementing her guidance in the art of yoga, Emily is a practicing Holistic Nutritionist, offering full spectrum support in finding a life of balance and harmony on all levels. She received her Bachelor’s of Science in Holistic Nutrition with a concentration in Herbal Medicine in 2006 and spent a growing season apprenticing with the herbalist, author and teacher, Matthew Wood.

What Matters Most

what matters most jules speaking to grandmother ocean

This was the moment when I really felt it: this.

“This is bliss.”

“This is what matters most.”

Why?

Because it was a combination of what’s important to me and how my soul glows.

These moments used to be fewer and farther in between. Accidental connections to my truest nature. I wanted more. 

Nowadays, I have found the words to define my personal guidelines for living a whole life. Living wholly and soulfully. Not accidental, but intentional.

That doesn’t mean life is perfect. Far from it. 

I am always practicing and I have a light to guide the way: my personal guidelines for the day-to-day and my inner guide for when things get really tricky.

Everyone has this light, though not everyone has the words.

How does one learn what matters most?

By preparing for the answers: keeping sacred space, knowing your inner guide and asking the big questions, and then, living into them.

Start with Perspective

In one of my favorite movies, About Time, the lead character can time travel.

He doesn’t need a machine like Bill & Ted. He can just close his eyes, focus on a moment, and go there.

The most powerful thing he discovers? He has do-overs.

He can go back and re-do every day, savoring the moments:

  • Acknowledging the clerk at the market with a smile.
  • Noticing the beautiful windows as he’s running to catch his train.
  • Greeting his crying, messy child after work.

Eventually, he stops time traveling and literally only lives in the present.

Feel free to stop reading and go stream it (it’s so good).

Then, you can come back to this post and learn about how to live this way. 

Why isn’t life only about what really matters?

According to the movie, life is only about these precious moments—what really matters—it’s just about our perspective on it.

Yes, and, you might be thinking.

There’s actually a lot in our lives that doesn’t matter. More so for some people than others.

How do we know what does and doesn’t matter?

“To discern what is truly essential we need space to think, time to look and listen, permission to play, wisdom to sleep, and the discipline to apply highly selective criteria to the choices we make. Ironically in [our] culture these things—space, listening, playing, sleeping and selecting—can be seen as trivial distractions,” wrote Greg McKweon in Essentialism about the disciplined pursuit of less.

How do we find space and time and permission and wisdom?

We practice.

Keeping Sacred Space

I find the best time for me to practice creating sacred space is when I’m backpacking, when I’m on retreat and when I observe Sabbath, my “weekly retreat.”

In his book, Sabbath, Muller writes, “Sabbath is an incubator for wisdom. When we allow the rush and pressure of our days to fall away, even for a short period of time, we are able to discern the essential truth of what lies before us.”

Poet Wendell Berry, who has a longstanding practice of Sabbath, wrote:

During the Buddhist Sabbath, lay people and monks gather to recite the precepts that govern their practice. There are hundreds of these precepts for monks, concerning everything from how you meditate to how you eat your food and how you wash your bowl.

But more than the specific precepts, it is a time to reiterate what is ultimately important, sacred. Whether the Eightfold Path of Buddhism, the Five Pillars of Islam, or the Ten Commandments, most religions consider certain precepts to be guiding lights to help us find our way through darker times.

Berry often writes poetry about what’s ultimately important, sacred, on the Sabbath. There is a sense of divine inspiration in his observations of the world and its interconnectedness.

“Sabbath is a time when we retreat from the illusion of our own indispensability. We are important in that we are part of something larger,” adds Muller.

Something larger that’s often hard to comprehend without some guidance.

Knowing Your Inner Guide

“Whether we choose spirituality or religion, we need a system of experiences and beliefs that is true to our own experience. We must once again look at our own lives and discover what we already know,” says Cecile Andrews, author of The Circle of Simplicity: The Return to the Good Life.

Anthropology Professor Roger Walsh wrote:

We know more than we know we know. The inner source has been called by many names: for example, the Hindu’s “inner guru,” the Tibetan Buddhist’s “personal diety,” the Christian Quaker’s “still small voice within,” or the psychologist’s “higher self.” Whatever the name, the implications are the same. We have within us remarkable wisdom that will guide and help us if we learn how to recognize and draw on it.”

Just that simple.

Ultimately, yes, and…

From my experience the learning how to recognize [and listen] and draw on it, is a lifelong quest for the monks and us lay people alike.

Over the years, I’ve come to know and listen to this.

My inner guide is the filter for what is true to me, at any given time, on my path. 

As I’ve quieted and settled what Walsh describes as “the outer self” of surface emotions, habits and personality, and then “the inner self” of secret hopes and fears, self-image and beliefs, the listening grew easier, the voice grew louder and clearer.

This so-called voice lies within our “deep self,” or soul.

For some this conversation comes through deep, committed practices with meditation or yoga.

For me this conversation comes mainly through intentional practices of:

It is in these sacred spaces and times when I’ve become acquainted with my inner guide, my deep self, my still small voice within.

It’s always been there, I just hadn’t asked or hadn’t really listened before.

Asking the Big Questions

Listening starts with asking. The curiosity to receive whatever shows up.

Questions like:

  • What inspires me?
  • What is it like when I’m “in my element”?
  • What is love?
  • What do I believe?
  • What do I fear?
  • What’s always been important to me?
  • What connects me to Source?
  • When do I feel whole?

I’ve been amazed at how often it’s in the most minuscule moment of awe, perhaps examining a worm slithering through the soil, that my inner guide reveals my deepest knowing, the answers to these questions.

“Sabbath honors this quality of not knowing, an open receptivity of mind essential for allowing things to speak to us from where they are,” wrote Muller.

It is a lifelong conversation to recognize our own wisdom.

There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom.

In Essential Spirituality, Dr. Walsh said:

Knowledge informs us, wisdom transforms us.
Knowledge is something we have, wisdom is something we must become.
Knowledge is expressed in words, wisdom in our lives.
Knowledge empowers, wisdom empowers and enlightens.

Wisdom is our deepest knowing.

As such, often our most heartfelt questions are more of a feeling than a thought.

They don’t always formulate into neat, little sentences.

Because it’s not about figuring things out. That’s knowledge.

This is about feeling things out as our being connects the dots and then the answer emerges.

Wisdom.

The wisdom, courage, and clarity we need are already embedded in creation—in nature, in the world, in our lives. The solution is already alive in the problem. Thus, our work is not always to push and strive and struggle. Often we have only to be still, and we will know, wrote Muller.

The Tao Te Ching asks us:

Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?

In other words, until the right answer arises by itself?

Moments Matter Most

Once you start having the conversation, you can discern what is truly essential, what matters most, as McKweon describes.

You’ll know what is important to you and how your soul glows.

You’ll know what this feels like and you’ll be able to start putting the words together to define your personal guidelines for living a whole life.

Once you name it, you can live it even more intentionally. Remembering and practicing these fundamental precepts each week, they become your every day.

“When I am fully aware of clouds moving, birds trilling, insects buzzing and downy feathers floating on the still lake, I lean into the portal from this moment, beyond next week, and into the grand scale of things, weighing the collection of meaningful moments holding my life together,” wrote Shelly Miller.

This is living life to the fullest.


Join others from around the country in the next Sabbath Course as we explore and practice together, inspired by an interfaith, personal approach to this universal tradition. This 7-week course includes fun weekly activities, weekly community gatherings online and your own practice. You’ll experience what students describe as a “positive and significant impact on my personal growth and spiritual exploration.”

The Unseen Wheel

unseen wheel

While the days march by in a line across our calendar, they are actually cycling through the seasons.

The unseen wheel is always turning while we grind away on the day to day.

This is so easy to forget.

And such a relief to remember.

Reality Bites

I got home last night after visiting a friend for a long weekend.

I had already done my usual Sunday chores and then some, including stopping at my post office box, before I left so the reentry was quite smooth with few steps.

I stopped at the grocery store on the way home, then unpacked, heated up some dinner and opened up the pile of mail.

At the bottom of the stack was a reality check.

I wish that meant it was a check with earnings for recent time spent living in the present, going with the flow, seeing things as they truly are, instead of how I want them to be.

Nope. It was the opposite.

It was one of my business credit card statements.

The long list of purchases had been necessary investments over the last year of getting my new business off the ground. Or seemed necessary in order to manifest the business.

Perhaps that was just the way I wanted things to be because I believe so much in it?

This was not actually the reality check.

It was the total amount of the credit card statement.

Reality Check

Given the pangs in my gut each time I used the card recently, I knew it was getting up there.

Expenses out without much income in is discouraging. And when you’re starting something new discouragement doesn’t help. At all.

And so, I had been focused on making progress, moving forward, being into each day one at a time without getting bogged down in the details.

What I hadn’t been paying attention to was how up there.

And it had crossed my imaginary tipping point of what seemed safe and doable. Now, it was at the level that seemed risky and scary.

That made my whole gut clench like a fist and yet also hollow out. Like a black hole imploding into itself.

I could instantly feel the hole, perhaps a hole that had been slowly growing over the last year, but that denial had been filling?

I did not feel whole.

Like gusts of cold breeze through an open window, many emotions passed through me as I sank down into my 45-year-old armchair.

  • Hurt by this consequence of past decisions that seemed right at the time,
  • Mourning for past successes not just breaking even, but saving ahead,
  • Anger at well-intentioned but broken systems,
  • Overwhelmed by the task of repairing the imbalance,
  • Scared by the possibility of not closing the hole.

And yet, I knew there was nothing I could do in that moment.

I could eat my dinner and watch a DVD from the library. And make some tea.

When the electric kettle whistled, I went over to the window sill where it’s plugged in. Something outside caught my eye. Something white.

With freezing temperatures across the state, I had driven home that day in rain, sleet and snow. But, arriving home the streets were bare.

Several hours later, in the dark as I was watching a movie and sitting with my feelings and this reality check, snow had quietly begun falling outside.

I looked closer, surprised.

Yes, the yard was in fact dusted with the powdered sugar snow.

Just as the credit card statement had snapped me into the moment, the snow snapped me into the bigger picture.

Reality Check

Of the seasons, the unseen wheel constantly turning. Always in motion.

Of which, gives us our days, weeks, months.

Of a system constantly harmonizing to realign with what’s showing up.

Of which, I am a small part.

And in which I am whole.

And when I consider the whole — of my life, of the natural world, of a mysterious force — I can once again find trust.

That things will work out, somehow.

And perspective. That things work themselves out over time and space, sometimes lots.

And peace.

And so, I find my way back to the natural rhythm as I continue to focus on making progress, moving forward, being into each day one at a time.

Without getting bogged down as I grind away on the day-to-day.